Troy: Our City of Tears
by WhimsicottMoon
Summary: The Trojan War was a clash of men and gods, of lovers and fighters, of Trojans and Greeks. But the Illiad, unfortunately, overlooks the role that the women of both sides played; so here is the story of the Trojan War, retold by the women and warriors who defined their respective countries.
1. I: Cassandra of Troy

**I. Cassandra of Troy**

I stare out of my bedroom window, overlooking the sprawling city of Troy and the blue skies above it, but the sun does not shine. Not the way it used to. Not since that final day in Apollo's temple.

I was once both beautiful and clever. They used to say that I was the most beautiful Trojan princess, but they only say I'm crazy now. The whispers trail me through the streets, and yet they don't dare say anything to my face, because I am a daughter of King Priam.

"It is her punishment," they all say. "Punishment for refusing the god Apollo."

The only solace I have now is that I know they will all end up dead. I see the past, the present, and the future; the visions come and go without being invited or wanted. I see one -and only one- future ahead: the ships will come, and Troy will be bathed in the blood of Trojans. The Greeks will come, and they will put my people to the sword, send my family to the slaughter. The wooden horse they pull through our gates will be as tall as a tower, and the fires that lick at our city will be as red as my hair.

I see these visions every day, in the scarlet threads of time that twist their way through my eyes. My eyes are still green, cloudy and green, and I wonder when they will turn as red as those threads, those twisting threads of time dyed with fire and dipped in blood.

I am Oedipus. I am Perseus. I am as doomed as those fools who seek the Oracle of Delphi. I am the human cursed to know her own fate. This was my punishment for refusing Apollo, for attempting to choose my own path. But tell me truly, can anyone deserve this punishment?

I want the power to protect the few I still care about, but that is beyond my abilities. I've learned that I cannot refuse the gods. We'll all burn, and we'll all bleed. We'll all fall into the depths of the Underworld, and our beautiful city, Troy, will fade into a legend.

Soon, the ships will come.

* * *

Author's note: While some details may not be completely faithful to the Illiad/Oresteia, the overall grand scheme is more or less the same. Please, read on and review!


	2. II: Iphigenia of Argos

**II. Iphigenia of Argos**

I'm in my chamber, untangling strands of hair from my brush, when one of my handmaidens brings me the news about my aunt, Helen of Sparta.

My aunt is the most beautiful woman in the world.

My aunt was also seduced by a Trojan prince, Paris, and now she has run away to Troy. My uncle, Menelaus of Mycenae, is leading an army there to get her back.

My father, Agamemnon, will also lead his army to Troy. He also wanted to marry Helen, but he married her sister, Clytemnestra, instead. However, as a former suitor of Helen -Helen of Troy as they call her now- he swore an oath to uphold and protect Helen's marriage, regardless of the groom.

And my father is a man of his word.


	3. III: Achilles of the Myrmidons

**III. Achilles of the Myrmidons**

The fake hair on my head is long and scratchy, and the linen dress I wear feels unnatural and far too thin.

There are several ancient prophecies regarding the fall of Troy, one of which states that the war cannot be won without me, son of the sea goddess, Thetis.

There is, however, one minor complication: my mother adamantly refuses to allow me to sail to Troy with any Grecian kings, because she believes in prophecies, believes that I will achieve both fortune and fame, but die young. And yet, is dying not the fate for all, in the end? Why _shouldn't_ I run off to Troy? What's the point in staying here, among fragrant ponds filled with glittering fish, playing handmaiden for a queen?

I receive a call to the main chamber; we have visitors. I enter the spacious marble room to find the other handmaidens clustered around presents from the guest. There are luxurious fabrics and opulent jewels. The other girls exclaim softly and admire the endless strings of pearls and diamonds, running their fingers through the diaphanous cloth. I pet the fabric perfunctorily and move on.

A set of shining silver opposite to the dresses catches my eye. I wander over, and my hands itch with anticipation as I see the most beautiful set of silver daggers I have ever laid eyes on. On instinct, I flip one into the air and deftly catch it by the handle. As I hold it up to the light, admiring the balance, I catch the eye of our guest.

I would be a fool not recognize the stormy grey eyes and victorious smirk: Odysseus. I suppose even sons of sea gods cannot hide from those favored by Athena.

Sorry mother, but it seems like I'll have a little taste of this war anyway.

* * *

Author's note: As much as I would love all of the narrators to be female, that's not... completely realistic, because unfortunately, this is the _Illiad,_ and I needed to drive forward the plot somehow.


	4. IV: Iphigenia of Argos

**IV. Iphigenia of Argos**

I'm getting married.

My father has offended the goddess Artemis by shooting one of her sacred golden deer, so the winds are still and our ships will not sail. The people think it will bring good fortune if I, the Princess of Argos, marry in the Temple of Artemis.

The best part? I am to marry Achilles, who is both a hero and a demigod.

The altar's right in front of me now, and I am dressed in my best gown and jewelry. I just never realized that a marriage would be this solemn, though. Not a single person is smiling.

I ascend the last few steps to the altar, careful not to trip, and smile at Achilles. "I look forward to our life together, and I hope that I may bear you strong children."

Achilles looks confused. "Our life together?"

 _How… doesn't he… shouldn't he know?_

My father steps forward and unsheathes a knife. King Agamemnon's face is an unreadable mask. "I'm sworn to do anything I can to aid the Greeks."

 _I'm supposed to be married to a hero, I'm supposed to be a queen someday. Isn't that why I'm here?_

"The goddess Artemis has demanded a sacrifice."

I shriek as my father's men come forth and force me to my knees. How many times have I danced with them at feasts, serenaded them in our hall with songs, poured wine for them at our table? Tears stream down my cheeks as I plead for clemency, but I cannot find enough breath to force the words from my chapped lips. I cannot find the courage to plead with my own father for my life, to choose me over my traitorous aunt.

Crimson blood splatters across the altar before me, and my mother's scream rends the air. The world before me slowly dims to black, and blood pulses in my ears, pounding, roaring, beating, until I could hear no more.

I cling desperately to the last things I remember: the sound of my mother's laughter during the chariot ride here, the touch of her hand upon my cheek… but even those fade away as I slip into oblivion.

Off the shore of Greece, the winds begin to blow.


	5. V: Hector of Troy

**V. Hector of Troy**

A messenger scurries into the great hall, panting and completely winded. "They're coming! The Greeks are coming! The Greeks are coming!"

A deadly silence falls over the hall, until I grab my spear and raise it above my head. "We may fight against the sons of gods, or the gods themselves, but Troy shall never fall!" The hall erupts in fierce war cries, clashing shields, and cheering men.

But though I howl for war and bloodshed with the men around me, I can't help but feel a twinge of doubt in my chest. We will face famed warriors, illustrious kings, and renowned generals. Yet perhaps it is our circumstances that set our path in stone; in this war, there will be no room for hesitation or fear. I must cast these feelings aside, for my people will look to me for both hope and guidance. I intend to give them no less than what they deserve: victory.

Let them come. We will drench our land with the blood of Greeks and defend our walls. I will not rest until I slaughter every hero and every demigod aboard those ships. I will fight for my people and for my family… and for Troy.

Let them come, for I'll be waiting.


	6. VI: Cassandra of Troy

**VI. Cassandra of Troy**

I hear a war horn echo through the city, and it feels as if my soul vibrates to the sound. I race to the battlements as fast as I can, the sharp wind whistling past my face. My heart jumps in my throat, and my hair is torn free of its bounds, streaming behind me like a curtain of fire.

I see it then: rows and rows of wooden ships, eyes painted on the hulls, sails puffed up in the wind, and thousands upon thousands of oars splitting the water.

My knees give way and I sink to the ground, tears streaming down my face.

The end is nigh, for the war has begun.


	7. VII: Polyxena of Troy

**VII. Polyxena of Troy**

I stand up high on the fortress wall, looking out over my city, wishing I could remember it before the Greeks came.

I'm a Princess of Troy, the youngest daughter of King Priam. Hector and Helenus tell me stories about Troy before the war. They tell me about a Troy that was beautiful all the time, where the people wrote plays instead of fighting wars. They say that they made goods instead of weapons, and that they could walk outside the walls without fearing for their lives.

I have a lot of brothers and sisters. They're all great fighters, or famed beauties, but Helenus is my favorite brother. He knows things, sees things in the strands of time that others cannot. He tells me that I'm his favorite sister, even though Cassandra is his very own twin. But Cassandra is crazy.

Hector's my other favorite brother, though I wish he didn't have to fight all the time. His shoulders are broad and scarred, but his hands are gentle when he helps me brush out my hair. The Greeks see him as a savage warrior, the ultimate enemy. And though it's true that my brother is fiercely Trojan at heart, he'll always just be my big brother to me.

I guess I have one more favorite brother: Troilus. He's my beautiful little baby brother, and I love him for that alone. Everyone adores him, for his big green eyes and soft blond hair. But there's a prophecy that states that if Troilus lives to twenty years old, then Troy will never fall.

I hate seeing all my brothers come home after days in battle, bleeding and torn, tired and worn. I hate seeing the city grow grayer and grayer, year after year.

I can't wait for Troilus' twentieth birthday, for our victory. Then Troy can be beautiful again, and we can plant gardens instead of bury bodies.

The city has been eroded away by the tides of war like sandstone, and my tears dissolve away in the rain.


	8. VIII: Achilles of the Myrmidons

**VIII. Achilles of the Myrmidons**

I've come to enjoy this war, understand it. The raping, the killing, the pillaging, it all feels natural now. It's as if my sword and shield have become extensions of my arms, and bloodshed is second nature. I am the terror of the battlefield. I bathed in the River Styx as a child, and now no mortal weapons can pierce my skin; they shatter against my body into glittering shards of bronze. I return to the campfire at the end of every day, covered in Trojan blood. My life is simple, and I enjoy it.

Today, I return to find my portion of the loot arranged in front of my tent. There are gold weapons, beautiful treasures… and a girl.

She stares at me with empty blue eyes from behind a curtain of long, tangled hair. Her eyes are dead and glassy; there's a ghost of a spark left in them and crinkles around her eyes to suggest that she once smiled often, but it seems like the war has erased her childhood. I see a little bit of myself in them too: we have the same world weariness and exhaustion carved into our hands and faces. I have survived, living day by day, burying any emotion that threatens to bubble to the surface, but it is hard to ignore my thoughts when they glare at me through another pair of eyes. The faces of my lost comrades suddenly swim before me, and I resist the sudden urge to sit down and drown myself in the cheap, stinking wine that all our men drink.

I force myself to look back at her, back at those sorrowful eyes brimming with feelings I can't afford to have anymore.

"My name is Achilles." I untie her hands, and reach out to brush aside her curtain of shimmering hair, but she shies away. "What's yours?"

"Briseis." She whispers her name softly, still refusing to look at me.

Her hands are shaking, so I reach out to hold them.


	9. IX: Hector of Troy

**IX. Hector of Troy**

There is no fighting today, and Polyxena laughs as she teaches me to braid. Her deft fingers weave strands of her long hair back and forth, one over the other.

"It's your turn!" She hands me her incomplete braid, a playful smile gracing her delicate features.

My fingers try to learn the dance that hers know so well, looping locks of hair in intricate patterns. But my stumbling fingers cannot match hers, and I curse as I realize that I've tied her hair in a knot. "I have a warrior's hands, not a hairdresser's."

She sighs as she takes the now ruined braid back. "I taught Helenus to braid ages ago, and he's no hairdresser."

A wicked grin suddenly stretches across her face. "Your hair might be a little short, but if you can't braid mine, then can I braid yours?"

I reluctantly shift my stool to turn away from her. Her delighted giggles echo through the hall, and I wish I could etch the sound into my memory. I want to freeze this moment in time, to watch the sunbeams spiraling through the windows with her laughter in the air forever.


	10. X: Achilles of the Myrmidons

**X. Achilles of the Myrmidons**

Her breathing is soft and slow, and her eyelids flutter as she dreams.

She sleeps peacefully now, but I cannot leave her side – the memory of her nightmares are still seared into my mind.

When I first met her, I almost never heard her voice at all, except for the darkest nights when she woke screaming for her family. Her voice would shatter the thick silence of our campground, and her empty eyes blazed to life, full of terror and desperation.

But I swear there's hope left in those eyes, and I am filled with joy as I watch it burn brighter day by day.

She is beautiful, clever, and kind, and I live for the day when her eyes will sparkle like I know they once must have. And though I realize she will always remember the relics of her past, I hope that I can be her future.


	11. XI: Cassandra of Troy

**XI. Cassandra of Troy**

I stood quietly in the doorway, watching my sister teach my brother to braid.

My flaming hair had been pulled neatly back and the voices of time lay sleeping, quiet and calm. I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror and for once, it seemed as if I were sane again, untouched by the threads of time and the hands of gods.

The scraping of a stool along the floor tiles awakens me from my thoughts, and I turn to see Polyxena grinning as she begins to braid Hector's hair. I smile too, remembering a time when Polyxena was too young to braid, when _I_ teased my brothers and laughed alongside them.

I wish every day could be like this one, full of peace, joy, and hope. But I know how our stories will end, for I have seen our city burn, and I have heard our people cry. I gather the flimsy silk of my skirt in my hands to hide their trembling, and I try to ignore the tears that slide down my cheeks.

It's painful to watch others hope when there is none left.


	12. XII: Polyxena of Troy

**XII. Polyxena of Troy**

Troilus and I were racing through the woods on horseback, rejoicing in the freedom of being outside the walls. It is a feeling that we have not enjoyed in a very, very long time, a feeling we now must relish in secret. We were going to visit the well and a temple of Apollo nearby – sacred ground, exempt from the destruction of war. The wind blew back my hair and knotted the curls together, but I didn't care. It felt so good to be out in the open for once.

As our horses slowed to a trot, we suddenly heard the sound of another horse galloping towards us. A Greek warrior rode right past us, red plumed helmet and gold armor flashing. His horse kicked up a cloud of dust as the warrior reached over and grabbed Troilus by the hair. Troilus was unhorsed, but he wriggled away and began dodging through the trees and undergrowth, away from the trail. I watched, wide-eyed, and then spurred my horse to flee, fast. My hiccuping sobs were lost in the thundering of my horse's hooves and the howling wind in my ears.

After breathlessly crashing through countless branches, I slowed. _Where could Troilus be? Where would he run for shelter… The temple! Apollo has always favored him._

I leave my horse behind to run towards the temple on foot. I wrench open the door, just in time to witness the warrior separate my brother's head from his mutilated body.

* * *

Author's notes: Hey guys! As Cassandra previously predicted, the happy fluff has ended. Just in time for the holidays!

On a more serious note, I decided to stick with the standard myth for Troilus - there's a prophecy that states that should Troilus live to adulthood, Troy will not fall. Athena therefore encourages Achilles to seek him out and murder him, which he does, but since this murder was committed in a temple, this act of sacrilege contributes to Achilles' own death. Goody goody.

So, apologies to fans of Troilus and Cressida _,_ and more apologies for the dark humor (I'm in a really weird mood today).


	13. XIII: Achilles of the Myrmidons

**XIII. Achilles of the Myrmidons**

Her scream reverberates throughout the temple, and she rushes forward, screaming, "Troilus! Troilus!" I catch her with my bloodstained hands and hold her back, but she continues to scream, now at me. "That was my brother, you heartless pig!"

Regret seizes my heart. Tears ravage her beautiful face, and she continues to rage and struggle in my arms. I hold her until her tortured screaming subsides to broken whimpers, and I carry her to my horse. I take her back to Troy's front gate. By then, she has cried herself to sleep.

I gently wake her. As she looks up at me with bleary eyes, I tell her, "My name is Achilles. If you ever come looking for revenge."

She just slides down from the horse and staggers towards the gate. Nothing about her pitiful form resembles the vibrant girl from earlier, racing beside her brother on horseback, laughing with her braids streaming out behind her. There is just this girl in front of me – this broken, hopeless slip of a girl.

I reach out to grab her shoulder, and her head snaps back, eyes devoid of all emotion but pure, unadulterated fear.

I hold her panicked gaze for a second before the words slip out of my mouth. "It's my heel. My only vulnerability... is my heel."

She finally turns all the way around to look at me. "My name is Polyxena."

I can't understand what about her compelled me to reveal my secret to her, but there's something in her spirit, the way she holds her chin up high despite the emptiness in her eyes… her determined strength and quiet sagacity…

She reminds me of Briseis.


	14. XIV: Hector of Troy

**XIV. Hector of Troy**

I kissed my sisters, wife, and children goodbye at the gate. I held Polyxena close, desperately wishing that this would not be the last time I could do so. But I caught Cassandra's eye, and the sorrow in her face told me that I would not return. Her words, as always, betray her madness, but this time, I realize that her eyes do not lie. I grasp my wife's hand and smile for my children so that they do not see the tears. _A warrior has no tears._

I look back one more time before I step out into the battlefield that has been my life for the last decade. I can already see Achilles sauntering towards me, his spear slung over his shoulder and a devilish smirk etched into his face.

 _This man… how many of my brothers and dear friends has he killed?_

Sorrow turns to anger; revenge may be futile, but I will fight against both Achilles and the Fates themselves today for it. I refuse to give in without a fight – at the very least, my city shall have a martyr.

Our feet kick up dust and our weapons make ugly clashing sounds as they collide, bronze against bronze. The harsh sun beats down on our faces and lights up the tip of my spear as it splinters against Achilles skin.

 _So this is the end._

I rush at Achilles with my sword, the last weapon left to me. But Achilles has more range with his spear, and I see my blood gushing out as he sinks it into my chest.

"Please… let… me… give me an… honorable… burial." It's the last thing I can think to say now, with my chapped and bloodied lips. There's so much more to say, but those are words for my children, for my wife, for Polyxena.

Achilles sneers. He leans in close and whispers, "I will let the vultures and dogs feast on your flesh. Then we'll see about burying what's left."


	15. XV: Achilles of the Myrmidons

**XV. Achilles of the Myrmidons**

The feeling of his blood running down my arms had felt so right. The fury rose up in me, and the pain of losing so many comrades sharpened into an ugly yearning for revenge. I pulled my spear from his chest and slit his ankles. I passed a girdle through the slit and tied his body to my chariot. I circled Troy, drunk on victory, addicted to revenge, dragging Hector's body behind me.

But the sweet taste of triumph faded as soon as I returned to home to find Briseis curled up in the corner, tears streaming down her face. I loved seeing the sparkle return to her eyes day by day, but now her beautiful blue eyes were as empty as they were when I first met her.

"I know he killed your comrades and friends. But why did you have to kill mine?"

My heart burned with guilt. Briseis had once been Trojan royalty – she would have known Hector well. If there was anything left that I cared about in this world, it was Briseis. When Agamemnon seized her, I fought tooth and nail to get her back. When others threatened her, I protected her. When she woke up screaming, I held her until she slept again.

So I gather her into my arms once more. "I'm sorry." Tears well up in my eyes, and, for the first time, I wish that the war will end. I don't want to kill anymore. I want to return home to Greece, where I could marry Briseis, and we could live together in peace.


	16. XVI: Polyxena of Troy

**XVI. Polyxena of Troy**

Everything was black and silver and grey in the moonlight. Father and I made our way past the carcasses sticky with gore, some just tatters of cloth clinging to bones. We were going to bargain for Hector's body.

As Achilles' hut drew closer, the warrior himself stepped outside. Father ran to him, knelt, and kissed him, crying.

"It is a father's joy to hear his son returning home, to hear the sound of the doors swinging open and the sound of a shield falling to the ground. Achilles, as I speak, your father, Peleus, will be dreaming of your return. He longs for your return, a return that I will never see. At least give me the body of Hector, and I will pay for it with his weight in gold."

Achilles wordlessly raised King Priam from his knees and nodded.

Scales were brought, and treasure upon treasure was piled on the scales. But it wasn't enough for Hector, who was still wearing his armor.

So I reach up to my neck and pull off the necklace I wear, strung with deep blue gems. I toss it on the pile of priceless cloth and jewels. I remove the bangles and bracelets on my wrists, and the silver twinkles sadly as I add it to the scales. I unhook the jewels dangling from my ears and slowly twist off the rings on my fingers. _Please, let this be enough._ I toss my last ring on top of the scales, and finally, they hang in perfect balance with my brother's body.

I look up to find Achilles staring at me, blue eyes glittering with unshed tears. He pulls a gold ring from his own finger and slides it onto mine. It is an arrow, with the tip looping back around to graze the feathers.

He holds my hands and tells me, "We mortals are wretched things, and the heartless gods weave sorrow into the pattern of our lives."

My heart beats sadly in sync with his.


End file.
